


Cultural Competence

by jessalae



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Undercover as Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:57:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1694060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessalae/pseuds/jessalae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain James T. Kirk needs to produce a mate for his treaty negotiations with the Tlaraaw to go without a hitch, and according to Commander Spock's computer simulations, Dr. McCoy is the only person compatible enough to pull it off. Starfleet needs this treaty, and Kirk swears he’ll be the perfect gentleman. Keeping their hands on each other in public turns out to be surprisingly easy. It’s keeping them off in private that becomes the problem. And that’s not the only very inconvenient complication…</p><p>(Written for the unconventionalcourtship challenge, using summary #45, "Wife For A Week")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cultural Competence

Dr. McCoy glared at his PADD, scrolling discontentedly through the briefing materials for this away mission. "There is something seriously fucked up about these Tlaraaw."

"And this is why I don't usually bring you along on diplomatic missions," Kirk said, rubbing his temples.

"I'm serious," McCoy said, stopping on a page full of images. "Have you seen them? They look like something out of a horror movie, but their society is all lovey-dovey. It doesn't fit."

“That’s because you’re thinking about it from your limited Earth perspective,” Kirk said. "It's kind of smart, though, when you really think about it -- find two individuals who complement each other well enough, and they're bound to be smarter than either one could be on their own. Plus, if you require all your high-level decision makers to have a lifelong mate, you promote collaboration."

McCoy tossed aside his PADD and sighed. "I still say that pointy-eared bastard rigged the survey to make it look like we’d be the most plausible mate pair.”

"Come on now. What possible motivation would Spock have to do that?"

"I think it's his idea of a joke," McCoy said, pointing an emphatic finger at Kirk. "Low risk of danger, high probability of embarrassment, necessity of the results being shared with the entire fleet -- it's all perfectly damn logical."

"You're just mad because the analysis had you pegged as the more passive one," Kirk said, grinning. He turned away from their red-shirted pilot and lowered his voice to be barely audible over the hum of the shuttle engines. "Since it means you'll have to let me sit in your lap most of the time."

"Starfleet had better get some fucking good use out of this refueling station they want to build on these people’s planet,” McCoy growled.

"They will," Kirk said. He stretched back in his seat, throwing an arm around McCoy’s shoulders. "Come on, Bones, it's just for a week or so, and it might even be kind of fun. What could go wrong?"

***

The atmosphere on the Tlaraaw planet was thick and muggy, and dragonfly-like creatures the size of Kirk's forearm zipped around their shuttle as it landed at the central dock of the capital city. Kirk straightened his uniform shirt and nodded to the pilot, who moved back to the cargo area to unload their luggage.

Through the waves of heat shimmering off the obsidian landing pad, Kirk could see the Tlaraaw welcoming party making its way toward them.

"Ready?" he asked McCoy quietly, reaching out his hand.

"As I'll ever be," McCoy said. He took Kirk's hand, twining their fingers together, and they set off towards their Tlaraaw counterparts.

"I feel like a pair of five-year-old girls skipping along," McCoy muttered right before they were in earshot, making Kirk snort. He got his emotions in check as they reached the Tlaraaw delegation.

McCoy was right: they did look like something out of a horror movie. Their long, spindly legs let them move with inhuman grace and speed. Their eyes were solid black, front-facing like any good predator's, and their sharp teeth were obviously not designed for an herbivorous diet. Crests of feathers adorned their joints and the tops of their heads, and their short forearms ended in four fingers topped with wicked claws. Local garb apparently tended towards adornment rather than coverage: sashes made of iridescent insect wings, garlands of brightly colored local flora, polished metal bands worn at wrist and ankle.

There were six of them, and as they stopped walking they settled into three obvious pairs. Kirk had sort of skimmed the page on Tlaraaw gender differentiation, but he thought at least four of the individuals were probably female -- not that it mattered to them. Mate pairs didn't have to be actually capable of _mating_ , per se. Spock had explained that very clearly in response to McCoy’s earliest objections.

"Welcome," said the Tlaraaw that stood at the head of the group, its hand resting carefully on the back of its mate's neck. "I am Kaazar Tahv, and this is my mate Deleh Tahv."

"We are the chairs of the council," Deleh Tahv continued. "We welcome the envoys of Starfleet."

"Thank you for your welcome," Kirk said formally. "I'm Captain James Kirk, and this is my mate and chief medical officer, Dr. Leonard McCoy."

There was a brief silence. Kirk squeezed McCoy's hand sharply, and McCoy jumped.

"We look forward to negotiating with you," McCoy said, remembering the briefing packet's advice on speaking as a pair.

"We are glad to see you," said the passive partner of another mate pair. "Our communications operators were surprised when Commander Spock spoke alone to them when your ship first hailed our satellite." 

"We worried that your ship might not have a mate pair who could conduct proper negotiations," their mate said.

"I-- we are sorry if you were offended by Commander Spock's lack of a mate," Kirk said.

"He's not the easiest guy to get along with," McCoy said. Kirk shot him an exasperated look.

"No offense was taken," Deleh Tahv said. "We have our unmated here as well."

"Commander Spock is perfectly welcome to speak to our communications staff, unmated though he is," Kaazar Tahv said. "But if he had thought to speak to any of the council pairs..." She laughed, an odd hissing sound, and the other council pairs followed suit. Kirk and Bones joined them uneasily.

"Come," said one of the third pair, gesturing towards a cluster of trees and elegant columns in the distance.

"Let us show you to your accommodations, and introduce you to the rest of the council," their mate said.

"Thank you," McCoy said.

"Lead the way," finished Kirk, and they all set off through the humid afternoon towards the Tlaraaw council palace.

***

"This is going to be harder than I thought," McCoy said as soon as they had been shown to their room and instructed to rest before their welcome banquet.

"Welcome to my world," Kirk said, flopping down on the bed. The single, fairly narrow bed. At least the mattress was surprisingly springy and comfortable. "It's never easy adapting to alien customs."

"What kind of custom is having to finish each other's sentences?"

"You don't have to finish my sentences, you just have to follow up on the points I make," Kirk said. "That does mean you'll have to actually _listen_ to me, which I know must be a challenge for you, but again, it's only a week."

"A challenge for _me_ to listen to you? That's rich," McCoy said. He circled the airy room, peering behind curtains and into delicately carved cabinets. One of them held a basin with a faucet-looking thing above it, and filled with cool water when he touched a spot marked with small round pieces of obsidian. "I'm just surprised we're in a messy situation that isn't entirely your fault, for once." He splashed his face and ran wet fingers through his hair. "God, it's hot on this planet."

"I know," Kirk said. He rolled off the bed and rummaged through their luggage, pulling out a clean uniform shirt. "The Tlaraaw have the right idea, with how they dress in this weather." He grinned as he stripped out of his sweaty shirt and joined McCoy at the basin. "Maybe we should follow their lead.”

"If you think you're getting me to attend high-level diplomatic negotiations wearing nothing but a fucking flower necklace, you've got another think coming," McCoy said.

Kirk shrugged. "It was worth a shot." He poured a handful of water over his head and turned away, going for his clean shirt.

McCoy watched him bend over the bed, beads of water dripping down his back, and bit his lip to keep from sighing. _Harder than I thought,_ he repeated in his head. _Too fucking right._

***

The first day of negotiations dawned bright and sunny, the light filtering in through the woven curtains before McCoy was really ready to be awake. The Tlaraaw council had offered them dish after dish at the welcome banquet, plates full of red-purple meat that was barely seared on the outside and juicy on the inside, crunchy cubes of tart root vegetables, delicate paper-thin slices of seafood, and some kind of sugary fermented wine that McCoy had enjoyed a little too much. He groaned and rolled over, ending up pressed against Kirk's side. Damn skinny aliens and their skinny little beds. He let himself pretend he was still asleep for a moment, listening to the chirp of bird-like creatures and enjoying the smoothness of Kirk’s shoulder against his cheek.

"G'morning, sweetheart," Kirk said, yawning hugely. "Ready to watch your better half kick some Tlaraaw butt at the negotiating table?"

"Morning to you too, sugar buns," McCoy groused. "If you think you're my better half, you're nuts."

"Don't be like that." Kirk pushed himself into a sitting position. "But really, get your ass out of bed. The council is expecting us."

They discovered that a narrow doorway covered with loosely woven curtains led to a smaller room with a bathtub-sized basin. McCoy took second shift in the cool water, and emerged back into the bedroom feeling much more human. Kirk was fully dressed and looking through their briefing materials one more time.

"Think you missed something?" McCoy asked, fishing a clean uniform out of his side of their luggage.

"Just brushing up," Kirk said. "I think we did all right last night with the talking, but we need to make our body language more affectionate. Zraat Plok was looking at us kind of funny until I started leaning against you."

"Which one is Zraat Plok?”

"Green and black feather crests, mates with Lekah Plok, the really tall one." Kirk cocked his head to one side, then the other, still focused on the description of Tlaraaw mate-pair body language, and nodded to himself. "Right. When we get to the council chamber, you make sure to sit behind me and touch my neck a lot. That should help."

McCoy grimaced. "Sure. Will do."

Kirk looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. "You heard what they were saying about Spock when we arrived yesterday, right? If they don't buy us as a mate-pair, they'll refuse to even speak to us. We're going to have to give up a little bit of dignity to get through this."

"Since when have you had dignity?" McCoy asked, holding the door open.

"I resent that," Kirk said. He tossed aside the PADD and headed for the hallway, running a hand through McCoy's wet hair on his way out.

The council chamber was outdoors, but some thoughtful Tlaraaw servant had set up shop with an enormous leaf fan behind the pillows where Kirk and McCoy were supposed to sit, and fanned them occasionally. McCoy let Kirk sit down on the stone bench first, then adjusted the cushions to support his back and settled himself down behind him. The Tlaraaw were drifting into the chamber two by two, making small talk with other pairs and grooming each other's feathers. Kirk reached back and tugged on McCoy's shirt, and McCoy scooted closer and awkwardly wrapped an arm around Kirk's waist. He quickly became even more thankful for the fan, since Kirk was like a furnace.

"Your metabolism is absurd," McCoy muttered in Kirk's ear. "If I wasn't so familiar with your medical records from patching you up every other week, I'd say you were running a fever."

"Reconsidering that flower necklace now?" Kirk asked.

"Not a chance." But an image flashed through McCoy’s head in spite of himself: skin against naked skin, the sweet smell of crushed flower petals, Kirk’s head resting against his shoulder, bare throat exposed. McCoy cleared his throat and reached up carefully, tipping Kirk’s head back against his chest.

“Good idea,” Kirk whispered. He shifted against the cushions, which were filled with the same springy materials as the mattress in their room. "At least these guys have comfortable seats for their negotiating table," Kirk whispered back to McCoy, reaching over his shoulder to stroke McCoy's hair. "There was one planet we visited a few months ago where sitting down was against their religion."

"I don't believe you," McCoy whispered.

"It's true! When we got back I had to take a personal day and lie down until my legs started working again."

"Oh, is that what that was? I just thought you were recovering from that extraterrestrial STD you picked up from their Empress."

"It was not an STD! Just because it's only transmitted via bodily fluids-- if you had seen her--"

Kaazar and Deleh Tahv called the council to order, tapping together a pair of crystal spheres that made a sharp ringing sound. Kirk sat up, then remembered himself and lounged against McCoy again, opening up a note-taking program on his PADD.

There was a round of formal welcomes, introductions, and speeches from each of the Tlaraaw mate pairs. Most of the council had been at the welcome banquet, but despite his best efforts McCoy only recognized a few faces -- the one with the chipped front tooth, the pair wearing gold rings in their flared nostrils. He was more focused on the steady rhythm of Kirk’s heart, and the beads of sweat that had begun dripping slowly down the back of Kirk’s neck. 

Kirk, of course, knew every member of the council by name already. When it was their turn to speak, Kirk gave McCoy's free hand a squeeze, then launched into an elaborate thank-you for the Tlaraaw's hospitality.

When he came to the appropriate pause, McCoy jumped in with the comments they'd rehearsed. "As you all know, Starfleet is eager to expand our network of friendships and alliances in this sector of space. We hope the agreement we'll be making here with you will be beneficial to both our societies."

The Tlaraaw around the table nodded in approval, and some of them made contented hissing noises. Several of them settled into more comfortable positions, leaning against their mates or casually twining their legs together.

"Let us open these negotiations by hearing your statement of intent," Kaazar Tahv said.

"What would Starfleet ask of the Tlaraaw, and what would you offer in return?" asked Deleh Tahv.

Kirk squeezed McCoy's hand, signaling him to take the lead.

"Our high command would like to build a starship refueling station on one of the planets in your system," McCoy said.  
"With this council's permission, teams from the Enterprise -- our ship -- have been scouting the less habited planets to find one that would be suitable," Kirk continued. "We've found several good candidates already."

As the negotiations kicked into high gear, McCoy found himself struggling to keep up. Deleh and Kaazar Tahv turned out to be shrewd bargainers, and some of the other council members were highly skeptical that Starfleet had anything to offer them that would be worth turning over land rights on one of their planets. He rested his palm on the back of Kirk's neck and let him do most of the talking, adding comments he hoped would come off a diplomatic and not just useless. The whole point of this mate-pair crap was that two heads were supposed to be better than one, but having Kirk curled in his arms was wreaking havoc with his concentration. His eyes kept sliding away from the gruesome faces of the Tlaraaw, focusing instead on the muscles of Kirk’s shoulders under his shirt, the curve of his lips, the way he kept reaching up and twining pieces of McCoy’s hair in his fingers.

The twin suns reached their high point in the sky, and Deleh and Kaazar Tahv picked up their crystal spheres again. The blue-crested Tlaraaw male that was speaking deferred to his mate to finish his thought, then fell silent.

"We will conclude today's negotiations here," Deleh Tahv said. "We will reconvene tomorrow morning at the same hour."  
"Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy, you are invited to join us for an evening meal tonight. Otherwise, please enjoy your time here, and feel free to explore the council palace."

They tapped the crystal spheres, and the council pairs went back about their business.

Kirk stretched backwards, craning his head over McCoy’s shoulder and nearly sending them both sprawling back onto the cushions. "That went well. Let's go send a report back to the Enterprise.”

"You do that," McCoy said, pushing himself to his feet and offering Kirk and hand up. "I need a nap.”

An hour or so later, he woke up to find Kirk lightly stroking his hair as he looked over some updated briefing materials on his PADD.

“I hope you weren’t petting me the whole time you were talking with Spock,” he grumbled.

Kirk smiled down at him. “Hey, better not to get out of the habit, right?”

“Mmm,” McCoy said in what he hoped was a noncommittal way, and closed his eyes again, enjoying the comforting motion of Kirk’s fingers through his hair.

***

By the third day of negotiations, Kirk was starting to get antsy. The communications they were receiving from high command via Spock were getting more and more terse -- the Tlaraaw's terms weren't exactly to Starfleet's liking.

"While we understand your need to protect local industry, those import tariffs are just too high," he told Breh Lizgra, one half of the council's pair of treasurers. "A healthy trading relationship is essential to the success of this treaty."

"The last thing we want to see is the Tlaraaw system become just a stop on the way to more beneficial trading areas for Starfleet ships," McCoy added. "Our intention is that the goods Starfleet brings to your system will promote economic expansion for you." His cheek brushed against the side of Kirk's neck, his stubble rasping against Kirk's skin, and Kirk fought back a shudder. For all his bitching, Bones had gotten pretty good at this casual affection thing. Possibly too good. 

"Why should we want to expand economically?" Vlaa Lizgra countered.

"We have established other treaties with nearby civilizations without putting down such a strong foothold in their systems, or they into ours,” Breh Lizgra said. He gestured at the lush canopy of leaves that almost formed a roof over the outdoor council chamber. "It would not be wise to spread ourselves too thin, away from Tlaraaw itself."

Another Tlaraaw jumped into the argument, and Kirk rubbed his temples — only to have his fingers nudged away by McCoy’s. Kirk relaxed as McCoy massaged his forehead in gentle circles. That spot was like magic for him, and he sighed contentedly, letting McCoy take his weight.

Later, in their room, Kirk groaned and fell facedown on the bed. "I'm gonna be honest, I was not expecting this kind of pushback," he said into the pillows.

"We're making progress," McCoy said. He lay down on his side next to Kirk, lightly massaging the back of Kirk’s neck. "The way I see it, they've got two major camps here: expansionist and isolationist. I think we're starting to win over the expansionists -- the Tahvs, the Roklaas, that other pair with the nostril rings--" As he talked, his hands worked their way down Kirk’s spine, massaging all the way down the to the small of his back. Kirk shivered when McCoy’s fingers found the hem of his shirt and slid underneath, massaging their way back up.

McCoy’s voice had trailed off, and Kirk could feel his eyes almost as clearly as his fingers, tracing over every inch of exposed skin as Kirk’s shirt rode up his back. Kirk wanted to roll over, feel those fingers and that intense gaze on the front of his body, maybe do some exploring of his own under McCoy’s shirt…

But they were here on official business, and it didn’t seem fair to let McCoy get carried away into something he’d almost certainly regret later. Kirk pulled his face out of the pillows and looked at McCoy. "You know you only have to touch me when we’re in public, right?"

McCoy froze, his expression shifting from concentration to embarrassment. "Better not to get out of the habit," he said, but he withdrew his hands, pulled the hem of Kirk’s shirt carefully down until it met the top of his pants.

Kirk cursed silently. “I mean, I won't turn down a massage--"

"Nah." McCoy sat up, picking up his PADD and opening a medical journal.

Kirk pouted at him, trying to get his attention back, but McCoy just continued reading. He sighed, wondering if he had just ruined any chance of turning this week into more than just a work trip. “I need to go send a report to Spock anyway — the Enterprise should be in position to receive messages by now.”

“Mm.”

Kirk shoved himself into a sitting position. He grabbed his PADD, jabbing his finger at the screen to type in the communications code for the bridge of the Enterprise, and forced his face into a smile.

***

"That was the worst day yet," McCoy said after dinner on the fourth day. "The negotiations, the party, all of it."

"I don't know," Kirk said, swigging from the carafe of Tlaraaw wine he'd snuck back to their rooms. "I think we're finally making some progress."

"You call what we just saw in there progress?" McCoy asked. "Two of them were literally at each other's throats." He grabbed the carafe from Kirk and took a long drink.

"Where's your medical curiosity? I would think you'd be excited to find out for sure what color their blood is."

"Christ, that's morbid." McCoy drank again, then let his head fall back against the pillows. "Do we cause this much trouble every time we try and negotiate with another species?" His head was swimming a little bit. Wine had an irritating way of making him sentimental. Why couldn't more alien planets have bourbon?

"More or less," Kirk said. He stretched, squirming against McCoy's side, and felt a flash of triumph when McCoy adjusted to curve around him.

"How do you do it?" McCoy asked. "Deal with all this damn drama every time we find some new planet we want to get our claws into?"

"It's what I'm good at," Kirk said as he rolled over laboriously, ending up with his face very close to McCoy's, whose eyes were still closed. "Besides, Bones," he said, and McCoy's eyes snapped open at his tone of voice, “There are always some unexpected perks."

They lay there for a long moment, not moving, barely breathing, the tension as thick as the humidity in the air.

"Oh, hell," McCoy finally whispered, and inched forward to kiss Kirk.

Kirk leaned happily into the kiss, laughing when they finally came up for air.

"What?" McCoy asked indignantly. "Was that not what you wanted me to do?"

"It was," Kirk said. "I just didn't think you'd have the guts to do it."

"Have the--" McCoy put the wine down, propped himself up on one elbow and shoved Kirk back against the bed. "You smug bastard, why didn't you make the first move then, hm?" He kissed Kirk thoroughly, stroking the side of Kirk's neck like he'd been doing all week at the negotiating table. Kirk moaned into McCoy's mouth.

“Wow,” he said, smiling between kisses, "That analysis had you all wrong when it said you were the passive one." He gasped when McCoy's tongue swiped up the side of his neck, circling at a spot just under his jaw. "We'll have to tell Spock--"

"Don't you dare," McCoy growled, and reached for the hem of Kirk's shirt.

***

“Doctor,” Spock said over the communications channel, his voice tinny and distant. The Enterprise was about to pass out of communications range for the rest of the day as it circled around to the far side of the planet. “I was not expecting to hear from you today, as late as it is in the communications window.”

“We couldn’t report back earlier,” McCoy said. “We were… tied up with some details here.” He glanced over at the bathroom, where Kirk was lounging in the huge stone bathtub, recovering from their post-negotiation exertions. He noticed McCoy looking and smirked at him. They really should have sent a report to the Enterprise as soon as the day’s negotiating session was over, but Kirk had spent the last hour of talks subtly rocking back and forth in McCoy’s lap, and, well…

McCoy cleared his throat and focused back on Spock’s face, which was somehow both emotionless and highly disapproving. “We wanted to get a report in before you went out of range for the evening. I’m sending over today’s notes now.”

Spock glanced to the side and nodded. “Received successfully. Based on your urgent effort to send this report even at the last possible moment, can I infer that the negotiations went well today?”

“Better than they ever have before,” McCoy said. There was a splashing sound from the bathroom, and Kirk emerged, stark naked, rivulets of cool water dripping off his body. “The expansionist faction seems to be winning out; they’ve brought up several counter-offers that we think high command will be like just fine, and they’re not getting shouted down as much by the isolationists.” Kirk shook his head like a dog, misting McCoy’s face and neck with water. “We’re hoping to finalize the treaty by tomorrow.”

“That is excellent news,” Spock said coolly. “I’ll report back to high command as soon as we can open a channel.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “I should ask, Doctor, how you’re holding up against the pressure of a high-level diplomatic negotiation. I know this mission is not a typical assignment for you.”

“I’m fine,” McCoy said. “It’s too damn hot on this planet, but other than that, no complaints.”

Kirk sat down on the bed behind McCoy, just out of range of the PADD’s camera, and slipped wet fingers under the hem of McCoy’s shirt.

“I am aware that the circumstances of this mission are especially unusual,” Spock said carefully. “Have you been successful in meeting the cultural demands of the Tlaraaw?”

Kirk’s fingers were working their way along the waistband of McCoy’s pants, sliding underneath in strategic places: the small of his back, his hipbones, just under his navel… “You mean, do they buy that the Captain and I are fucking?” McCoy asked, hoping for some kind of reaction from Spock. He thought he got one, but it might just have been a flicker of static. “They haven’t stopped talking to us yet, so I’d say we’re doing a pretty good job.”

“Good,” Spock said. There was an unmistakable flash of static, the picture breaking up and reforming itself in an instant. “It would appear that our communications window has come to an end. Please attempt to report back earlier tomorrow.”

“Sure,” McCoy said in a strangled voice — Kirk’s hands had drifted even further into his pants, and he was struggling to keep his composure. “Earlier tomorrow. McCoy out.” He ended the transmission and put the PADD aside. “Damn it, Jim, how much stamina do you think I have?”

“Enough for one more go, apparently,” Kirk said in his ear. McCoy shuddered, his hips rising to meet the slow motion of Kirk’s hand. He glanced at the position of the sun through the window, judging how long they had until dinner.  
“Just one,” he said, and turned to push Kirk down on the bed.

***

The next day was a turning point in the negotiations: with Breh and Vlaa Lizgra much more subdued, Vlaa’s neck still bandaged from the fight two days before, the expansionist Tlaraaw took control of the talks. McCoy was happy to sit back and let the aliens argue among themselves. The day was unusually cool, and the press of Kirk's back against his chest was a comfortable weight, a happy reminder of the previous two evenings. He let his lips brush against the side of Kirk's neck. Kirk sighed contentedly, his fingers drawing absentminded circles on McCoy's knee.

"Delegates?" Kaazar Tahv said expectantly, and McCoy's attention snapped back to the discussion.

"What do you say to the counter-offer of a three percent import tariff on all ship parts, in exchange for preferential access to the dilithium mines on the three outer moons?" Deleh Tahv prompted.

Kirk tapped some notes onto his PADD, letting McCoy read over his shoulder, then looked up. "That is acceptable to us."

"Thank you for being so accommodating," McCoy added.

The discussion gained momentum, with acceptable counter-offers being made more often than unacceptable ones for the first time in the process. Starfleet high command was going to be very happy with this treaty. Bones could feel the tension gradually leaving Kirk's body as clause after clause was agreed to and noted down by the council's pair of secretaries. The isolationist Tlaraaw muttered to their mates and glared daggers at the two humans, but didn’t object; they seemed to understand that they had lost. 

They kept at it long after the suns peaked in the sky, until they had almost dipped down below the tree line. Finally Kaazar Tahv and Deleh Tahv stood up, picking up a larger set of crystal spheres.

"It is agreed," Deleh Tahv said formally. "All these terms are acceptable to the Tlaraaw council."

"If the Starfleet delegates are amenable, the treaty will be signed tomorrow at the beginning of the council session."

"Sounds good to me -- us," McCoy said.

"We will write up a copy of the treaty in English as well, to transmit back to our high command," Kirk said.

Kaazar and Deleh Tahv tapped the bigger spheres together, making a deep ringing noise. As the council pairs began untangling themselves and standing up to leave, McCoy let himself collapse back against the pillows, taking Kirk down with him.

“Finally,” he groaned into Kirk’s ear. “I’m damn tired of sitting here.”

“Impatient to get back to our rooms?” Kirk asked innocently, tracing a finger along McCoy’s jaw and squirming against him. 

McCoy tipped his head back, giving Kirk’s fingers access to the side of his neck. “Well, now that you mention it…”

“Delegates,” said a sibilant Tlaraaw voice from just behind them. McCoy tensed and pushed himself up on one elbow, turning to face the Tlaraaw pair towering behind them.

“Congratulations,” said Vlaa Lizgra saccharinely. She twined her arm around her mate Breh’s neck, stroking the dull edge of her claws through Breh’s feather crests.

“You are a sublimely matched pair,” Breh said. “Tell us, how early were you matched?”

McCoy glanced at Kirk — this was a part of their backstory that Spock had neglected to flesh out for them. “Uh, pretty late, actually,” he said.

“We only met as adults,” Kirk supplied. “So we weren’t able to find out how well we were matched earlier.”

“As adults?” Breh asked, his voice pitched so it echoed around the council chamber. The remaining Tlaraaw council pairs paused and glanced over at them. “But surely you haven’t had enough time for a proper handfasting, then?”

“It takes at least five years,” Vlaa said with mocking concern. “There’s no other way to be confident that the match will be successful.”

“And then there’s the early match period after that, to work out any conflicts — no responsible society would give a mate pair such a high-ranking position until they had been mated at least three years,” Breh laughed, flashing rows of sharp white teeth.

They had started to draw a crowd of Tlaraaw, the council drifting slowly over. McCoy could feel Kirk’s heart pounding in his chest, and his own doing the same. “I assure you that our high command has the greatest confidence in our abilities as negotiators.”

“They wouldn’t have sent us otherwise,” Kirk added.

“Oh, we’ve seen your abilities as negotiators,” Vlaa said. “They are not in question.”

“What _is_ in question is your status as a mate pair,” Breh said. “Your behavior, your speech patterns — they all point to one thing.”

“And what’s that?” Kirk asked.

A beat — then, “Surely you’re not suggesting what we think you’re suggesting,” McCoy remembered to say a moment too late, his heart sinking in his chest.

Vlaa Lizgra’s reptilian face spread into a wide smile, her solid black eyes narrowing to slits. “Are you two truly mated?”

“Or are you merely feigning partnership?”

A shocked murmur went up from the onlookers. McCoy tightened his grip on Kirk’s waist, felt him take a deep breath.

“We are truly mated by human standards,” Kirk said confidently, radiating indignation. “We are trusted by our high command to function as a pair.”

“Is that not good enough?” McCoy asked.

“That is for this council to decide,” Vlaa said triumphantly.

“We are not familiar with your human standards,” Breh sneered, “But impersonating a true mate pair is a capital crime here.” He dragged his claws along one of the metal bracelets on Vlaa’s arm, throwing up sparks and making a terrifying screeching noise.

“Enough,” Deleh Tahv said sharply, pushing through the crowd.

“This question is irrelevant,” Kaazar Tahv said, right behind her. “The treaty has been agreed to.”

“The treaty has not been signed,” Breh Lizgra said, his feather crests fanning out aggressively.

“If the humans have been negotiating in bad faith, we will revoke our supporting vote,” Vlaa Lizgra said, and several of the other council pairs made noises of agreement, inching closer and baring their teeth at Kirk and McCoy.

Kaazar turned to Deleh for a whispered consultation, then stood up straighter. “We call an emergency session of the council,” she said.

“This matter will be decided here and now,” Deleh said firmly. “Delegates, if you would wait in your rooms. I am sure this will not take long.” She glared at Vlaa Lizgra, who hissed out a laugh.

“Of course,” Kirk said, pushing himself up and helping pull McCoy to his feet. “We look forward to hearing the results.”

“We are confident you will make the right decision,” McCoy growled.

Unmated Tlaraaw servants, who had been disturbingly deferential all week, stared openly at them as they rushed back to their room. Apparently council gossip traveled fast around here. As soon as they were safely behind their locked door, Kirk tried to open a communications channel to the Enterprise, and cursed when the connection failed. “Of course they’re out of range now.”

“They wouldn’t really kill us over this, would they?” McCoy asked. His hand reached involuntarily for the phaser that was usually holstered at his waist, and he grimaced when he remembered it was buried at the bottom of their luggage. He got up and started digging through the trunk, throwing clothes every which way. “They have to know that would be suicide. When Starfleet found out—“

“I don’t think they give a crap about Starfleet.” Kirk paced the perimeter of the room, peering out the window into the shadowy Tlaraaw jungle.

“At this point, _I_ don’t give a crap about Starfleet. I just want out of here alive.”

“We’ll get out of here,” Kirk said. He came up behind McCoy and wrapped his arms around McCoy’s waist, kissing the side of his neck. McCoy wordlessly handed him a phaser.

The knock on the door surprised them both. Kirk checked his phaser, then positioned himself next to the door and signaled for McCoy to answer it. The silence hung in the room for a long moment as McCoy steeled himself, then slid the door open in one smooth motion.

“Delegates,” Kaazar Tahv said, “We are truly sorry for this inconvenience.”

“Some members of our council are… stubborn,” Deleh Tahv said. “They require more proof that your partnership is true.”

“What kind of proof?” McCoy asked.

“We must point out that this request is rather insulting,” Kirk said, stepping out from his hiding place. Out of the corner of his eye, McCoy could see how his uniform shirt was bunched in the back, covering the phaser stuck in the waistband of his pants.

“Again, we apologize,” Deleh Tahv said. “We have persuaded them to accept a second partnership ceremony as reassurance enough.”

“You are welcome to incorporate any human rituals you wish, though we know you have already completed them when you were originally mated,” Kaazar said. “We will assist you in carrying out the proper Tlaraaw rituals, since they may be unfamiliar to you.”

“The ceremony has been scheduled for one hour from now.”

“We hope this will give you enough time to make any preparations.”

McCoy blinked, processing. “Partnership ceremony?”

“Of course,” Kirk said quickly. “As unusual as this request is, we are always willing to commit to each other again.”

“Again,” McCoy repeated. “Yes! Just like the first time.”

Kirk gave him a sidelong glance. “One hour will be plenty of preparation time.”

“Excellent,” Deleh Tahv said. She offered McCoy a woven basket. “Here are your ceremonial adornments. We hope they will be suitable.”

“We will return for you in one hour.” Kaazar smiled her disturbingly toothy Tlaraaw smile, and she and Deleh set off down the corridor, leaving McCoy stunned in the doorway.

Kirk reached in front of him and slid the door shut, then ruffled McCoy’s hair and grabbed the basket from him.  
“What just happened?” McCoy demanded. “What did I just agree too?”

“Oh, nothing serious, Bones.” Kirk opened the basket and sat down hard on the bed, laughing. He reached in and held up a matching set of flower garlands. “All we have to do to survive this is get married.”

***

Hot, muggy air; arm-length dragonflies zipping this way and that; the second sunset of the evening staining the sky purple all around them. Chanting from the Tlaraaw, long vowels and harsh consonants, a sibilant undertone blending in with the nighttime noises of the local wildlife. There had been two full flagons of wine in the basket, and McCoy’s head was pleasantly fuzzy enough to make him almost forget about the damn flower garlands he was wearing over his uniform. He and Kirk knelt on springy cushions facing each other, hands clasped and wrists bound together with vines. An elderly pair of Tlaraaw, backs stooped and feather crests dull in color, led them through the ceremony. The council sat on tiers of benches around them, listening intently as they repeated the words of the Tlaraaw mate-pair vows.

“To counsel, to guide.” Kirk squeezed McCoy’s hand, smiling at him encouragingly.

“To raise up, to encourage.” McCoy tried to keep his voice from shaking. He felt strange, full of buzzing tension, just as nervous as he had been during his real wedding years ago. It was probably just the aftereffects of their recent brush with death. Probably.

“Faithful and steadfast.”

“Fulfilled and answered.”

“Two parts that together make one greater whole,” they finished in unison. A sigh of relief passed through the onlookers, and a few of the pairs crowed in celebration.

The elderly Tlaraaw pair smiled. “You are now a mate pair in the eyes of Tlaraaw,” one said.

“Are there any human ceremonies you would like to perform?” asked the other.

McCoy shrugged, but a wicked grin was spreading across Kirk’s face. 

“Just one,” he said to the officiants. “Can you say, ‘You may now kiss the bride’?”

“Really, Jim?” McCoy growled, but the officiants had done as instructed, speaking in unison, and Kirk leaned forward and kissed McCoy breathless.

***

“God, what do they put in that wine?” McCoy groaned the next morning, blinking against the harsh Tlaraaw light.

“Maybe you’re just a lightweight,” Kirk said. He dodged the pillow McCoy threw at him. “I finally got a call through to Spock. We have our translation of the treaty for the Tlaraaw to sign, and as soon as we sign their copy, the Enterprise’ll send a shuttle to pick us up.”

“Best news I’ve heard all week.” McCoy rolled out of bed, full of renewed energy, and started to check that his side of their luggage was neatly packed.

“Are you that happy to be gone?” Kirk asked.

“Am I happy to be leaving a planet full of lunatic monsters who threatened to kill me for pretending to be married?” McCoy rephrased, raising an eyebrow. “You tell me.”

Kirk wandered around the room, picking up discarded pieces of clothing. “Yeah, that wasn’t so fun,” he said lightly. “But I didn’t think this week was that bad, all things considered.”

“And that’s why you go on all the diplomatic missions, and I don’t. I’ll be happy when everything’s back to normal.”

Kirk was silent for a minute. He tossed his gathered bundle of clothes at the top of their trunk, knocking over McCoy’s orderly stack of belongings. “Better get back to where everything is normal, then,” he said, and stalked into the bathroom.

*** 

The shuttle took off with a roar of engines, leaving the heavy air of Tlaraaw far behind. McCoy took one last look at the dense green jungle fading from view, then glanced over at Kirk, who was staring broodingly out the window. After the last week, it felt strange to be sitting in separate chairs, without Kirk’s weight leaning against his chest.

“All right, when we get back to the Enterprise we’re both going to need full medical work-ups,” he said abruptly, pulling out his PADD and starting to make notes. “Scans, blood work, testing for any fun new diseases we might have picked up during the last week. Neither of us appear to be on the brink of death yet, so it can probably wait until after we make our formal report.”

“Yeah, about that,” Kirk said, still staring out the window. “Are we going to tell high command about what it really took to get this treaty signed?”

McCoy grimaced at the idea of having to write out a detailed account for anyone else to read. They had only been off the planet for a few minutes, but already their time on Tlaraaw seemed unreal, private, liked a shared dream. “I don’t know, but whatever we say, it’d better be enough to get me a damn raise.”

“No, I mean it, Bones,” Kirk said, turning toward McCoy and leaning in, his expression serious. “We got _married_.”

McCoy waved a hand in the air, looking away. “In the course of our diplomatic duties, we feigned participation in a local marriage ceremony. Doesn’t the away team do things like that all the time?”

“Sometimes—“

“So that’s it, then,” McCoy said, tapping his PADD with finality. “We did what we had to do based on local customs, and now things go back to normal.”

Kirk ground his teeth for a moment. “Gotcha,” he said finally. “Back to normal.”

The shuttle flew in relative silence for a moment, the Enterprise shining in front of them, the most beautiful sight McCoy had ever seen — cool, organized, not at all like the humid jungles and organically beautiful palace they had just left. He swallowed hard, remembering the chirping of nighttime creatures, springy cushions under his knees, his fingers clasped with Kirk’s in the warm night air.

“Of course,” McCoy said slowly, “it would probably be smart for us to remain in quarantine until medical testing is complete.”

“Of course,” Kirk said in a flat voice.

McCoy barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. “And since we don’t want to contaminate more than one room, we might as well stay together…”

Kirk glanced up and studied McCoy’s expression. After a long moment, he grinned and settled back in his chair, stretching so that his hand brushed the side of McCoy’s neck. “Whatever makes you happy, Bones.”


End file.
